


Apotheosis

by theWickedWitchofFeels



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, MAJOR CH 4 AND BEYOND SPOILERS, Other, Slow Burn, the world needs more ophaanrose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theWickedWitchofFeels/pseuds/theWickedWitchofFeels
Summary: Their journey is drawing to a close, but the defeat of Primrose's nemesis comes with unforeseen consequences. Their story may be long from over.MAJOR SPOILERS FOR LATE GAME OCTOPATH. Please only read if you have finished Octopath Traveler or don't mind spoilers.





	Apotheosis

**Author's Note:**

> spoiler warning for Primrose's Ch4 boss.

“In Aelfric’s name, be hea -“

Ophilia felt rather than saw the magic attack coming her way, too fast for her to put up a reflective veil in time. Dark magic, aimed against her rather than alongside her, invaded her being as she was laid vulnerable by her light magic. It felt like lead in her veins, sending her crashing to her knees. 

“Prim...H’aan…” she whispered. There was not an ounce of strength left in her body by the time she saw Simeon’s blade swing at her chest.

“Galdera take you!” she vaguely heard him hiss, the last act of a dying man. 

“Ophilia!” 

I’m sorry...

She knew nothing more. 

\---

“Good-bye, Simeon,” Primrose whispered hotly, her dagger sunk up to its hilt in the playwright’s chest. Simeon’s last laugh choked out in a gurgle of blood that stained his long white hair. Finally, his blood was spilt, and Primrose’s father was avenged. It was done. 

“O-Ophilia!” 

H’aanit’s voice, with a tone of panic that Primrose had never heard before even through all their tribulations, tore the dancer out of her blood-soaked reverie. Her head jerked up, and her eyes found H’aanit crouching over the unmoving cleric, shaking her shoulders. 

“Tressa! An olive -” 

“Here!” Tressa passed H’aanit the pouch of olives. 

Primrose abandoned her dagger in Simeon’s chest and went swiftly to Ophilia’s side. She had hardly been paying her mind during the battle, focused as she was on Simeon, but now she saw: dark patches that circumvented Ophilia’s neck, from the murderer’s silencing magic, and blood turning her white robes red. 

H’aanit opened Ophilia’s mouth and put the magic olive inside, massaging her throat so that it went down. Primrose waited for her eyes to open, for her breathing to even and the blotches to recede as they always did. 

Heartbeats crawled past, but none of that happened.

Tressa sat up on her knees, peering worriedly at Ophilia. “Did she swallow it?” 

“She didst, I felt it goeth down.” H’aanit said. In a swift motion, she opened the front of Ophilia’s cloak and dress; Simeon’s sword had torn a bloody gash across her chest, which was also pervaded with his dark magic. 

“Why isn’t it working?!” Tressa shook Ophilia’s shoulders. “Ophilia, wake up! We won!” 

“Perhaps the olives work not outside of battle when the foe hath been beat,” H’aanit said, holding up the sack of olives and giving it a withering look. “Pieceth of shite fruits.” 

“We need to get her out of here,” Primrose spoke at last. “Away from the people who might find Simeon’s body and want revenge. She needs Alfyn.” 

Her voice trembled. Now that Simeon was gone, her hold on herself seemed shaky, her legs wanting to give out under her. And the possibility of losing Ophilia, her rock on this long journey - it was all too much even for she.

Linde chirruped worriedly as H’aanit, slow from her own injuries, hoisted Ophilia carefully onto her back. She waved off a healing grape as she made for the door. Primrose followed her, leaving Simeon’s body cooling behind her as the crowd below applauded. 

 

\---

“ALFYN!” H’aanit roared as Primrose opened the door to the tavern, turning all eyes towards the three women and a snow leopard carrying a fourth unconscious woman in white. “Alfyn - please!” 

Alfyn was down from the bar and at their side in an instant, examining Ophilia. “That’s a nasty cut there - and these bruises -” 

“Dark magic,” Primrose hissed. “Simeon’s doing.” 

“That bastard.” Alfyn growled, unusually venomous for the laid-back apothecary. “We need a room for her, stat.” 

“Thank Brand the inn is just next door. Here, let me take her.” Olberic gently pried Ophilia from H’aanit’s tired arms and cradled her to his chest. H’aanit refused to leave her side, feeling strangely detached from the fear pervading her being. The tightness in her chest was similar to that she had felt upon finding her master frozen in stone beyond her reach; and yet the uncertainty of Ophilia’s condition was almost worse. Z’aanta she knew she could save, even if it would be difficult; but Ophilia, the kind cleric she had come to know and hold dear, might be beyond help. 

She prayed desperately to Draefendi that she was not. 

H’aanit felt Primrose press close to her other side, shivering as they followed Olberic to the inn next door. Therion had run ahead to secure a room and was back now; even he seemed horribly shaken. 

“They have a room ready, they said free of charge for a sister of the Church.” He panted. 

Olberic carried Ophilia into the room the innkeeper showed them to and laid her on the bed. Next heartbeat Alfyn was at her side, examining her skin and the wound.

“Luckily her wound’s not deep, it’ll scar and she’s lost a bit more blood than I’d like but she’ll live.” Alfyn said. “It’s not why she’s unconscious, though. I’m worried about these.”

Alfyn traced the strange, bruise-like vivid purple markings around Ophilia’s wound and her throat. “You said these’re from Simeon’s magic?” 

Primrose nodded. “One of his silencing spells got through Tressa and hit her…” 

“I’ve never seen markings like this from silence-casting spells before. I can give her a herb of clamor but I’m not sure what good it’ll do.” Alfyn pulled up a chair next to Ophilia’s bed. “It’s in her wound, too...I sure hope it’s not some kind of infection.” 

Alfyn looked up, his eyes steely. “Cyrus!” he barked. 

The scholar jerked up to attention. “Yes?” 

“I need you to hit the books. I need to know what the hell these marks are and how to treat them.” 

“Gladly, Alfyn. Worry not, Ophilia. I’ll track down every book on black magic ever published if I must.” Cyrus gave them a determined nod, then left with a swish of his robe. 

“Finally, he’s good for something.” Therion snorted. The others ignored him.

“We will stay here until she awakes and is fit to travel again.” Olberic said. 

H’aanit nodded to him, grateful that he took the lead when the earth no longer felt stable under her feet. She pulled up another chair and sank into it, gazing at Ophilia’s still face. Linde pushed her head into H’aanit’s hand and mrrped worriedly. She patted her head absentmindedly. 

She met Primrose's gaze, and she saw her pain mirrored there. This time, there was no beast they could hunt, no manse they could weasel their way into that would bring Ophilia back.  
They could only wait and hope. 

\---

“Father, I bring you an offering. Father, take the Flamebearer.” 

“Good, good, my daughter. She will make me strong.”

“It seems that sword I gave Simeon got an mite of usefulness out of him yet. With a soul as pure and powerful as the Flamebearer’s helpless and feeding you, we are doing very well indeed. We need only a warm body now.” 

“Just so. I trust you to find the right vessel, my daughter.” 

“I will not fail you, Father.”


End file.
